PAGE 7
The Last Asset
by
“And the marriage takes place very soon?”
“Yes, in a few weeks, here. His mother is an invalid and couldn’t have gone to England. Besides, the French don’t travel. And as Hermy has become a Catholic–“
“Already?”
Mrs. Newell stared. “It doesn’t take long. And it suits Hermy exactly–she can go to church so much oftener. So I thought,” Mrs. Newell concluded with dignity, “that a wedding at Saint Philippe du Roule would be the most suitable thing at this season.”
“Dear me,” said Garnett, “I am left breathless–I can’t catch up with you. I suppose even the day is fixed, though Miss Hermione doesn’t mention it,” and he indicated the official announcement in his hand.
Mrs. Newell laughed. “Hermy had to write that herself, poor dear, because my scrawl’s too hideous–but I dictated it. No, the day isn’t fixed–that’s why I sent for you.” There was a splendid directness about Mrs. Newell. It would never have occurred to her to pretend to Garnett that she had summoned him for the pleasure of his company.
“You’ve sent for me–to fix the day?” he enquired humourously.
“To remove the last obstacle to its being fixed.”
“I? What kind of an obstacle could I have the least effect on?”
Mrs. Newell met his banter with a look which quelled it. “I want you to find her father.”
“Her father? Miss Hermione’s–?”
“My husband, of course. I suppose you know he’s living.”
Garnett blushed at his own clumsiness. “I–yes–that is, I really knew nothing–” he stammered, feeling that each word added to it. If Hermione was unnoticeable, Mr. Newell had always been invisible. The young man had never so much as given him a thought, and it was awkward to come on him so suddenly at a turn of the talk.
“Well, he is–living here in Paris,” said Mrs. Newell, with a note of asperity which seemed to imply that her friend might have taken the trouble to post himself on this point.
“In Paris? But in that case isn’t it quite simple–?”
“To find him? I daresay it won’t be difficult, though he is rather mysterious. But the point is that I can’t go to him–and that if I write to him he won’t answer.”
“Ah,” said Garnett thoughtfully.
“And so you’ve got to find him for me, and tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That he must come to the wedding–that we must show ourselves together at church and at the breakfast.”
She delivered the behest in her sharp imperative key, the tone of the born commander. But for once Garnett ventured to question her orders.
“And supposing he won’t come?”
“He must if he cares for his daughter’s happiness. She can’t be married without him.”
“Can’t be married?”
“The French are like that–especially the old families. I was given to understand at once that my husband must appear–if only to establish the fact that we’re not divorced.”
“Ah–you’re not, then?” escaped from Garnett.
“Mercy, no! Divorce is stupid. They don’t like it in Europe. And in this case it would have been the end of Hermy’s marriage. They wouldn’t think of letting their son marry the child of divorced parents.”
“How fortunate, then–“
“Yes; but I always think of such things beforehand. And of course I’ve told them that my husband will be present.”
“You think he will consent?”
“No; not at first; but you must make him. You must tell him how sweet Hermione is–and you must see Louis, and be able to describe their happiness. You must dine here to-night–he is coming. We’re all dining with the Hubbards, and they expect you. They have given Hermy some very good diamonds–though I should have preferred a cheque, as she’ll be horribly poor. But I think Kate Hubbard means to do something about the trousseau–Hermy is at Paquin’s with her now. You’ve no idea how delightful all our friends have been.–Ah, here is one of them now,” she broke off smiling, as the door opened to admit, without preliminary announcement, a gentleman so glossy and ancient, with such a fixed unnatural freshness of smile and eye, that he gave Garnett the effect of having been embalmed and then enamelled. It needed not the exotic-looking ribbon in the visitor’s button-hole, nor Mrs. Newell’s introduction of him as her friend Baron Schenkelderff, to assure Garnett of his connection with a race as ancient as his appearance.